


Song of the Dragon

by Rapis_Razuri



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dragons, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route Spoilers, Interspecies Romance, Manakete My Unit | Byleth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:55:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25525525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rapis_Razuri/pseuds/Rapis_Razuri
Summary: Dragons and men once coexisted in the continent of Fódlan until the first Adrestian Emperor and the 10 Elites rose from the shadows to reclaim the world for humanity in a war that shook the foundations of their world. Defeated, all dragons vanished from the realm… until the day one decided to return in search of her lost mother.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 16
Kudos: 106





	Song of the Dragon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [izu_min](https://archiveofourown.org/users/izu_min/gifts).



> Based on the artwork of @izuu_min on twitter. Specifically her “A dragon’s song” au (link [here](https://twitter.com/izuu_min/status/1282751649249779712))  
> Happy Birthday Three Houses! Of course I choose to celebrate by writing a fic of my OTP. 
> 
> Friendly reminder that although this story takes place in Fódlan, with many familiar faces and events in its setting, it is still an AU. So if you see something that makes you go “wait this isn’t how it is in 3H”... it was probably intentional.

_“They are coming.”_

Byleth is still blinking the sleepiness from her eyes as she clutches her armored bear stuffy close to her chest while clinging to her mother’s hand. They leave their house in their secluded village, taking nothing except the things they can carry. She sees her friends and neighbors doing the same. Rhea, who is like a big sister to Byleth, takes nothing and follows the crowd as though she is under a trance. She has never been the same since her mother died. Seteth is holding little Flayn by the hand, but when she stumbles and nearly trips, he drops the book he is always writing in and lets her climb onto his back.

They are all moving towards the heart of the canyon, to where their elders had been working day and night to find a safe haven for their kind. To that end, some have even condemned themselves to a cursed hybrid state, all to ensure that one day the rest can be safe.

But Byleth doesn’t want to go. Not yet.

“What about Papa?” she asks, digging her heels into the dirt. “How will Papa find us if we leave?”

“Don’t worry about your father,” Sitri says through a forced smile, “Papa will find us, but you need to go where it is safe. That is the most important thing right now.

“But-”

“Please, Byleth. Let’s keep going.”

The urgency in her voice makes Byleth obey. Her mother keeps looking behind her shoulder. She is so afraid. That scares Byleth more than anything. What could her brave mother possibly be so afraid of?

Everything is a hushed silence. They are all so tense and nervous. Like if they breathe too deep or think too hard, they will be lighting a beacon with which their enemies can find them. Byleth has always been good at staying quiet, so she follows their example and keeps her mouth shut. _Like we’re playing hide-and-seek._

She’s never been so deep in the canyon before. She and her mother have not always lived here. Back when she was little, she and her mother and her father lived together in a human village, but they suddenly had to leave one day, leave and run. Just like how they are doing now…

“Almost there,” Sitri whispers, more to herself than Byleth. “Almost—”

The silence is broken by the sound of screams filling the air. It starts a distance behind them, but it gets closer and closer. Byleth looks back and she sees the spots of light. They are small and dim, floating like ghost lights, but something about them is terribly familiar… and terribly _wrong_.

It is pandemonium as the dragonkin scatter in their panic. Byleth finds herself torn from her mother’s side.

“Byleth!”

“Mother!” She tries to go back, but it is too late and she is lost in the shuffle. Alone, Byleth could only shrink back and hide behind a large rock, from where she could finally see what it is that created such chaos.

A dozen humans. No more, no less. Each carrying one of those _things_ aglow with that disgusting scarlet light. One in particular stands out to her, a knight astride a black horse clad in pitch-dark armor and holding a lance. Not the largest or most imposing of the twelve, but he stands out among them nonetheless.

Byleth watches as he catches up to the baker who had lagged behind the rest and who had sold her a warm loaf of bread—and gave her a fruit tart for free as a surprise treat—just earlier today. A swift whack with the shaft of his lance against her back causes her to fall. She turns onto her back, pleading for mercy, but the knight ignores her, thrusting down with his lance and she just… stops moving.

Realizing what had transpired, Byleth could only scream and her screams are what draws the knight’s attention.

“Byleth!” Rhea is shaking her. Rhea… When did Rhea get here? The older girl’s eyes are alight with fear and hatred and so much more alive than Byleth has seen them. “We need to go!”

“Go with her,” Sitri says. Mother… Her mother is here. Everything will be alright now, right? “Byleth, go…”

_...Go?_

“I will be right behind you.” Sitri kisses her daughter once on the forehead. “Go with Rhea. I will see you on the other side. I promise.”

She doesn’t give Byleth a chance to protest. The last thing Byleth sees of her beloved mother is her back straight and proud before her human guise melts away in a flurry of snow-white petals and reveals her dragon form, her _true_ form. She is not the only one. Elsewhere, dozens of others transform as well, all those who have fled to the village because they hadn’t wanted to fight but are now forced to, their roars a defiant symphony before the champions of humanity.

_“Go!”_

Byleth doesn’t look back again, but she hangs tight to her mother’s last promise. Sitri Eisner never breaks her promises. _Never._

They’ll see each other again.

They’ll have too.

.

The camp is abuzz with noises and shouts and creaking of wooden wheels as his father’s men break down their camp and load the tents and pavilions into wagons in preparation for another day of travel. The journey back from Duscur is so much more cheerful, the result of a successful negotiation in regards to the future of their alliance.

Dimitri had been allowed to attend the meetings where his father the king spoke with the leaders of the region, to observe and to learn, and, he supposed, to meet the people of Duscur himself. When it is time for him to take the throne, the task of maintaining this alliance and keeping it strong would be on his shoulders.

At fourteen, the young prince is at that confusing transitional period where he is still not yet an adult, but not quite a child anymore either. Dimitri is happy that his father believes him mature enough to attend such important events, but he still has the energy and attention span of someone his age and so throughout the trip he had often found himself a little… restless.

“Good morning, Your Highness,” Duke Fraldarius says cheerfully, creating a pause in the conversation he and the king were having with a pair of knights. “Did you sleep well?”

Dimitri nods his head. “I did, thank you,” he replies. To his father, he asks, “Can I help with anything, Father?”

“Hmm…” Lambert thinks for a moment before he picks up a pair of empty water canteens. “Here, why don’t you go to the lake and fill these up for us?” His eyes twinkle as he adds, “Maybe you’ll even see the magical beast living there.”

Dimitri tilts his head. “Beast?”

“Oh yes. As the legend goes, there is a sacred weapon hidden in this lake. Unlike a Hero’s Relic, anyone can use it!”

How odd. His tutors never mentioned such a thing to him before. “What weapon?”

“It is a bow according to most versions,” the king says, nodding seriously. “Since you don’t need to have a Crest to use it, anyone can go up to that lake and try to claim it… In theory. The Beast of the Lake guards that weapon and it won’t give up such a valuable treasure so easily. Anyone who wants it will have to prove themselves to it first.”

“But if the legend is still a legend, then this weapon and the beast doesn’t actually exist, right?”

“Maybe. Perhaps it is only because no one has proven themselves yet.” Lambert affectionately musses his son’s hair. “Who knows? Maybe the Beast might find _you_ to be worthy of it, Dimitri. Just try not to get eaten if you’re not, okay?”

 _Eaten?_ Dimitri’s mouth opens in a small “o.”

“Your Majesty, please,” Rodrigue groans. “Don’t tease the boy like that.”

“Sorry, sorry!” Lambert laughs. “Well, there you have it. The Legend of the Lake, stripped down to the bare essentials. There really isn’t any beast living there… Probably.”

Well, even if there _is_ a beast, Dimitri isn’t going to get eaten because he isn’t there for any kind of treasure. Reaching the waterside, he kneels by the lakeside and peers over the edge. The day’s mild winds are creating small ripples across the surface, but the water is still crystal clear. He can see the lake’s bottom, but that is not an indication of its depth. He still has to be careful so he doesn’t fall in.

He can see fish though. They’re too small to be eaten, but still. Fish!

His excitement is getting him distracted. Dimitri slaps his cheeks twice before rolling up his sleeves and starting his task. Filling the containers is easy. _Too_ easy, so his mind wanders.

Is there really some kind of magical beast living in this lake? It’s certainly big enough and he knows from his studies there is a temple built on it somewhere. Dragons used to wander the land before they all disappeared over a thousand years ago after all. Maybe the legend is true and the magical beast is actually a dragon?

He is not really paying too much to his surroundings, so he only notices that he is not alone when he is about to grab the second canteen.

Downwind from him and quite a distance away, there is a great white dragon bowing its head over the water to drink. It is nothing like a wyvern, standing on four legs instead of two and has horns instead of antlers. It is so much larger and so much more beautiful and majestic with its regal bearing and scales like melting snow.

Dimitri scrambles to his feet. Is that… Could that be…?

Awestruck, he watches as the dragon finishes drinking. It doesn’t immediately fly away, sitting back on its haunches and lifting a wing so it can begin to preen much like a bird.

Would it be possible to get a little closer? He doesn’t want to disturb it or frighten it (or get eaten) and people will worry if he doesn’t return to camp soon, but… a _dragon._

Somebody begins calling for him. The voice feels so far away, but the dragon hears it too. It stops what it is doing and turns its neck towards the source. It pauses when the breeze picks up again, opening its mouth and taking in the scents carried towards it by the wind.

Dimitri holds his breath.

For a moment their eyes meet despite the distance between them and time seems to slow.

It doesn’t attack, but neither does it linger. It instead spreads its wings and flies away across the water. Not the Beast of the Lake then. If it were, wouldn’t it have gone _into_ the water instead? Dimitri stays where he is, watching until it is a mere speck in the horizon.

“Your Highness!”

He picks up the canteens that brought him to the lake in the first place. Such an easy task and he only managed to fill one. Somehow, he is not disappointed. How can he be?

“We are ready to depart, Your Highness. His Majesty is waiting for you.”

_Right…_

Dimitri grins. He didn’t claim that sacred weapon, but he _did_ see something that is truly amazing. He cannot wait to tell his father.

Would he even believe him?

Hmm… Probably not.

.

_Pointless._

He tries not to break anything when he puts the practice lance back on the rack of weapons situated at the edge of the training yard, but it is difficult to control his strength as angry with himself as he is now.

_It’s all pointless._

For the past month, he could reach for a glass of water only to knock it over because it had not been where he thought it was. He could take a stab with his practice lance, only to miss his target by a landslide. He jumps like a hare when somebody speaks or comes up to him from his blind side so he’s been skittish and irritable with everyone.

He feels so… _clumsy_. Clumsy to the point of utter uselessness.

What is most frustrating, perhaps, is that his instincts have not left him. He is sure of that. It is his body that no longer moves correctly in the way he wants it to.

“You are going very well,” Mercedes promises, her soft voice breaking through his brooding thoughts as she walks with him in the castle halls. She had been watching his bout with the Royal Guard outside. She is the only one who dares speak to him directly of his lost eye.

Truth be told, Dimitri does not like being reminded of the struggles he is having now. He likes the fact that everyone around him knows of them even less, but he appreciates her candid honesty if nothing else. There is never pity in her gaze. Only patience.

“It’s been almost a month, Mercedes.” Because she is an excellent healer and an even better friend, she is, in return, the only person to whom he is willing to speak of his newfound vulnerabilities. “I have never made such mistakes before, even when I was a child.”

“You are not the first person to be so injured on the battlefield,” she replies, repeating what she has been telling him for the last four weeks. “And I promise you won’t be the last. Thinking too much in terms of what you used to be able to do and not enough on what you are able to do now is not going to help you get better.”

He tries to take her advice to heart, doing the exercises she suggested in the privacy of his own rooms. Reaching for objects until he could pick them up without incident and without thought. Training to move his head more often to compensate for his lost vision. Unlearning the ways he lived with for twenty-three years and retraining his body to accept the change he will live with from now on. An hour a day, everyday. Sometimes more. Logically, he knows Mercedes is right. Time and practice is the only way for him to regain his lost strength.

But his heart… His heart feels differently. For someone who learned to wield a weapon before he learned how to write his own name, this is the worst form of helplessness.

.

In the five years since graduating from Garreg Mach Monestary’s Officier’s Academy, Dimitri traveled all over Fódlan as a diplomat and emissary. His father is no longer as young as he was. More and more he depends on his son to be where he cannot.

At least, he _did._

Once, he might have enjoyed getting to spend a little extra time at home, but under these circumstances though, it is only a reminder that he is now a mere faction of what he used to be.

The knights that once accepted his invitations to spar with eagerness now only do so after an awkward pause. They hold back and they avert their eyes when they see their prince, once more skilled than any of them, move like an inexperienced child stumbling about in a man’s body. It is humiliating.

The castle staff, on the other hand—at least those who have been hired in the last five years—they are simply unused to having him in residence.

But even so, they have more interesting matters to gossip about than a crippled prince.

Like a songbird in the tower.

.

“A young woman singing in the western tower?”

“To my understanding, yes. Rumor has it, we have a new ghost.” Fhirdiad has a long history, one that goes back to before Faerghus was established as a kingdom. It’s not surprising there are a few spectures that haunt the castle.

“Hmmm…” His father does not seem to care for the idle chatter of servants, but he has something to say about it regardless. “The western tower hasn’t been used since my father’s day and those halls tend to echo. There’s not much reason for anyone to be there save for the occasional maintenance, so I wager it was only a nightguard trying to keep herself awake and things escalated from here.”

“Yes,” Dimitri agrees without really thinking about it. “I suppose that’s all there is to it.” He tries cutting into his food, only to miss the meat and hit the plate, his Crest leaving a dent where the knife landed.

Lambert’s expression softens. “I can’t imagine what you must be going through right now,” he says sympathetically. “But don’t lose heart. Lord Gwendel experienced the same injury you did in his youth and he is one of the Kingdom’s finest knights! Don’t worry too much about the affairs of the Kingdom as a whole for the time being, Dimitri. Just attend to your immediate responsibilities and focus on getting better.”

“I… Thank you, Father.” Duties that would have once been assigned to him are instead given to his father’s most trusted vassals… He thought it is because his father no longer believes him capable. “All this time I’ve feared that I’ve been letting you down.”

“Ridiculous. You could never let me down,” The king reaches out and musses Dimitri’s hair like he used to do when he was a child, but his smile is tight when he adds, “Just put this ‘songbird’ out of your mind, son. There are more important things for us to worry about even in these peaceful days.”

If there is one thing he learned from becoming friends with Claude von Riegan—inasmuch as anyone _can_ become friends with the enigmatic new leader of the Leicester Alliance—it is how to spot a secret.

.

He really did have more important things to worry about, but his father’s reticence in the topic only made his curiosity grow. If it really is just a misunderstanding that spiraled out of control, born from the imagination of a bored chambermaid, then no harm, no foul.

But if not, if his father is keeping secrets from him…

That is the possibility he struggles with himself over as he approaches the western tower. To this day, he still admires his father, follows his example of chivalry and honor…

If there is one, surely there would be a good reason for it. But mostly, he supposes it would depend on the secret.

.

_In time’s flow… see the glow of flames ever burning bright…_

_On the swift river’s drift, broken memories alight…_

She is no songbird.

But she is… _familiar_.

.

He really did have more important things to worry about. Answers to questions such as _Where did she come from? Did my father put her in that tower? Is she the white dragon I saw at Lake Teutates as a child? But why does she look like that now, like she is something halfway between dragon and human?_ he should be seeking.

By day he stays out of trouble by attending to his responsibilities and sparring—or trying to spar—with the knights.

When the moon rises though, it is a different story. Like a man enspelled, he cannot lie down for more than an hour before the memory of her haunting voice pulls him back to the tower like a siren’s song. He cannot afford to do this every night and she does not sing every time he finds himself back there, but it becomes a habit, one that he is in no hurry to break when it brings him such comfort, safety and security.

In no hurry to break, that is, until the day he finds himself face to face with the court mage.

Cornelia Arnim is someone he has never been able to trust. When Fhirdiad was beset by a terrible illness over twenty years ago, she was the holy woman who was able to do what accomplished doctors could not. By the time Dimitri was old enough to understand what happened, that time has already passed.

But Cornelia… Growing up, there is something _predatory_ about the way she looks at him, so he makes certain to never let his guard down around her. Ever.

She seems almost amused to find him here. “My goodness…” she purrs, lips curling into a sly smile, “I never thought I would see you here of all places, Your Highness. Could this be fate?”

It is the condescending way she speaks to him, like he is still a clueless little boy trying to force his way into an adult’s world and pretend he belongs, that drives him pull himself up to his full height and respond with all the royal arrogance he could muster, “I never would have thought you were the sort to prefer abandoned towers, Cornelia and yet, here you are.”

His attempt at intimidation only serves to amuse her, likely because they both know what is so interesting about _this_ abandoned tower. She raises a finger to her lips and says, “I will keep your secret, if you keep mine.”

With as narrow as the stairway is, Dimitri presses his back against the stone wall as she sweeps past him, not wanting to touch her if he could avoid it. Once she is a few steps above his, he notices a curious pale green stone, about the size of his fist, hanging from her belt.

Something about it, the way it glows with a soft incandescent light, makes his blood prickle. If he hasn’t already decided to follow her up…

The first thing he notices when he steps into the tower room is that the dragon is unconscious in her cage. Cornelia pulls out a small key hanging from a chain around her neck and unlocks the cage. He watches as she unsheathes her dagger, blade glinting in the moon’s light, and cuts into her scaled arm, deep enough to draw blood.

“What,” Dimitri hisses, appalled, “Are you _doing?_ ”

Cornelia shows him the vial in her hand, corked and filled with a dark red liquid, before she traces the wound she has made with her finger, healing it with magic as though it were never there—save for the stain that is left behind.

“Remember,” she says, “Our secret.”

As he watches her slaunter away, he finds himself fuming with anger in a way he hasn’t since he lost his eye.

That woman is up to something. He is going to find out what.

.

Whatever Cornelia is up to, she is good at hiding it. Her workshop is always occupied, either by herself or by one of those strange dark mages she employs as assistants. As her financial backer, his father must know _something_ about her endeavors, but how much is the question. She earned his trust when she cured the plague that killed his wife, but perhaps he isn’t aware of everything his court mage has been up to all this time.

Still, if Dimitri comes to him with too many suspicions and too little evidence, his concerns will be dismissed as baseless suspicion. After all, he’s never really made much of an effort to hide his distaste for the woman.

There is one person he could try asking directly, but how helpful she would be… well, it is a gamble.

And, if he is to be honest, his investigation into Cornelia is not the only reason why he wants to speak to her. It is merely an excuse.

On the evening of the twenty-fifth day of the Ethereal Moon, Dimitri goes to the tower, unlocks the bottom door with his master key as he always does, and when he hears her singing, he climbs up with the full intent of finally making himself known to her.

Abruptly, the singing stops. By the time he makes it to the top, she has scrambled back against the corner of her cell with her wings drawn up around her like shields. Seeing her like this, her obvious terror… His heart goes out to her.

Dimitri holds up his hands, showing her he is unarmed, and takes a knee on the floor. “Hello,” he says softly, “I am Dimitri. May I ask who you might be?”

She just stares back, mute. He isn’t going to be getting any answers from her today or anytime soon, is he?

“I realize that was out of the blue,” he says, “Please accept my apologies.”

Something akin to curiosity crosses her face. Her nose twitches and then there is… recognition?

“Would it be alright if I come visit you again another day?”

Dimitri didn’t know what he would do if she refused. He had no intention of forcing himself into her presence anymore, not when she already had so little control over her life, but if he were never able to hear her song again…

But she doesn’t refuse. She lowers her wings slightly and nods once.

.

The nights he once spent at the bottom of the tower listening to her sing, he spends with her on the top floor, talking. He doesn’t try to press for details about her, her life, or why she is here. Rather, he regales her with the stories and legends he grew up on, but avoids anything from or regarding the era of the War of Heroes. He recites excerpts from The Sword of Kyphon and Loog and the Maiden of Wind. When he runs out of those, he recounts anecdotes from his days at the Officer’s Academy.

She never speaks, but she listens.

Every night before he leaves, he asks her if he could come back again and always, she gives her consent in the form of a single nod.

One time, he brings with him a trio of Mercedes’s sweet buns. He eats one, to show her that they are not poisoned and gives her the remaining two. He watches her take her first bite—though admittedly, it is more of a nibble—and sees the widening of her eyes and her expression of wonder before she wolfs the rest down in seconds.

Mercie’s baked treats really are the best. To humans and dragons alike.

She even licks her scaled fingers clean with the tiniest hint of a smile on her face.

He’s never seen her look so happy before. It's downright mesmerizing.

.

The tiniest hint of a smile.

That is all it takes to turn a simple curiosity into an obsession.

.

He cannot imagine Cornelia is feeding her well, so he tries to smuggle her as much food as he can when he can. It is something he does in the interest of her health, but also, it is simply because she always looks so happy when she is eating.

Sweets are the easiest to secure as it draws the least attention when he walks away with extras even if it causes him to gain a reputation for having a sweet tooth overnight among the kitchen staff. Act embarrassed, play along to expectations and no one bothers to look any deeper.

In the training grounds, his gradual improvement becomes exponential. The first time he wins a fair bout against two knights at once, he is met with earnest congratulations all around.

People are happy, he realizes soon enough, that their prince seems to be back to normal when he is anything but.

It makes him feel guilty, all this deceit. How can he not, when the reason for his newfound happiness is trapped in a tower with no freedom to call her own?

He has been selfish long enough. He cannot allow things to continue as they are anymore.

But first, he must speak to his father.

.

“I know about the girl. The dragon.”

The quill in his father’s hand snaps clean in two. “How?” Lambert asks even though they both knew full well _how._

Dimitri decides to skip straight to the point. “What did she do for her to end up there? Did she hurt someone?”

“Only the knights that were sent to subdue and capture her,” his father answers honestly. No point in hiding things anymore now that Dimitri knows, right? “After that, Cornelia sealed her powers away and changed her into a more… manageable form. In her current state, she is about as dangerous as any noncombatant of her size and weight.”

“Then why is she up there?” He thinks of Cornelia drawing blood and finds himself hoping that his father doesn’t know of anything. “There must be a reason, Father. You wouldn’t do this without a reason.”

His father’s words are all carefully and they are the practiced words of someone who has already spent a great deal of time thinking about them. “Because the strength of our kingdom is waning little by little. In contrast, the Adrestian Empire may have all but broken with the Church, but still it manages to expand and grow stronger by the year. Ionius IX is a weak man and the six noble families are content to accumulate wealth and power within their borders, but you have met his daughter, Dimitri. Princess Edelgard is nothing like her father. Every report from our spies in the Empire speaks of her ambition and her father’s ailing health. What those ambitions are won’t be clear until she takes the throne and when she does, she’ll find that we are ready for her.”

He won’t deny the observations made about Edelgard. When in her company, Dimitri felt that she was always evaluating him, but something does not add up. “Be that as it may, Father, but what does Edelgard’s ambitions have to do with… her?”

“We do not have the numbers to stand up to the Empire,” Lambert replies coldly. Too cold for the fair, approachable king and father Dimitri knows him to be. “Nor will we have the means to outlast them in a war of attrition. If they were to invade, Cornelia’s blood experiments may be our Kingdom’s only hope of survival.”

 _Blood experiments._ Dimitri suddenly feels faint. “How do you know it will come to that, Father? Is there any proof Edelgard’s ambitions involve a conquest or are you simply jumping at shadows?”

“Would you rather we do nothing?” Lambert slams his palms down. It is a miracle the desk does not break upon impact. “If not Edelgard, then some other ambitious fool down the line. Fódlan’s history is one of strife. The Holy Kingdom of Faerghus has survived this long due to the strength of our knights, but unlike Adrestia or even the Leicester Alliance, we simply cannot afford to feed a large army, so we must make due with quality over quantity. That is why Crests are so valued in our kingdom. You know this, Dimitri, and the Crest that girl grants… I’ve witnessed it in action. It is very powerful.”

Of course. A Crest. What else could it be?

And with every Crest, there is…

“Will there be a Relic?”

His father does not answer.

“You were planning this all along,” Dimitri realizes, unable to hold back his newfound contempt for this man he once admired above all others. “You and Cornelia… You raised me on the values of chivalry, Father. It was you who taught me that here in Faerghus, we carry the Hero’s Relics so we never forget the sacrifices this world for humanity is built upon and yet…” He swallows before delivering his cruelest blow. “I never would have thought you of all people would throw away the dignity of knighthood for an old man’s paranoia.”

“Mind. Your. _Tongue_.” He has never seen his father this angry before. “Be that as it may. I am still your father. And your _king._ Sometimes there are no good choices, only those that benefit my people and those that will not. Remember that Dimitri. For the day you put on this crown.”

.

Guards in the form of Cornelia’s mysterious masked mages are posted at the base of the tower all day and all night. It is not difficult to figure out why.

Dimitri grits his teeth and silently curses beneath his breath at this turn of events. He hasn’t spoken to his father in days, limiting their communications regarding official Kingdom business to the form of written notes delivered by castle pages. Only business. Nothing personal. No apologies and no indication of a desire to set things right.

He understands his father’s reasoning, he truly does. Sometimes a king had to make hard choices. Choices that will harm a few to serve the many. No matter the era, those in power will always claim to fight for a just cause and take lives to protect it. Like what his father is doing now.

But is it truly okay? To take any life they pleased, all in the service of some implacable _just cause?_ Where did that put the dragon locked away in that tower? Is her life considered disposable simply because she isn’t human?

The history of Fódlan, starting with the founding of the Adrestian Empire, through the rebellions of Faerghus and Leicester, all the way down to this very minute in time is built on soil stained with the blood of dragons. The Crest of Blaiddyd that flows in his veins was stolen from the nameless entity now remembered only as the Grim Dragon, the royal heirloom Areadbhar crafted from its bones and heart.

It is over a thousand years too late to make amends to that poor creature and its slaughtered brethren.

But it is not too late to spare her the same fate.

.

Time waits for no one. He needs to act as soon as possible, but wrong move and it’s over. There are supplies to gather and bribes to pay. Five years ago, he never would have stooped to such subterfuge, but his intentions are already just short of treason anyhow.

The guard keeping watch at the bottom of the tower doesn't see him coming. One look the wrong way at the wrong time and he falls onto the cold stone floor with a broken neck.

The second guard stationed at the top floor with her reacts more quickly to his sudden arrival, but Dimitri is quicker still, his lance striking true in a way that should not be as satisfying as it is.

She is woken by the sound of this brief conflict. She barely reacts to the carnage before her as Dimitri removes his weapon from the mage’s body with a sick squelch, but her eyes narrow in suspicion even when she sees it is him. It is a little disheartening. He thought that she’s started to grow accustomed to him, but then again, he hasn’t visited her in a long time even when he said he would. She likely thought he had abandoned her.

But he _hasn’t_.

“I’m going to get you out of here,” he says as he places his hands on the bars of her cage. The master key he has would not work on this lock. Cornelia holds the only copy, but he doesn’t _need_ a key. His Crest is more than enough.

With all the brute strength he has at his disposal, he twists and bends and breaks until there is an opening wide enough for a person to squeeze through. All the while, she remains curled up against the wall, watching him and, perhaps, unwilling to believe that this is all true.

“I’m sorry it took so long,” Dimitri says, smiling softly as he reaches out with a hand, “Come on. Let’s go.”

In the stories and histories, the dragons of old are always spoken of as fearsome, powerful and tyrannical beasts that ruled Fódlan with an iron fist until the first Adrestian Emperor and the 10 Elites rose from the shadows to lead all of humanity into a new dawn. It surprises him how small and fragile her hands are now that he is holding them within his own, but the dissonance of this contrast doesn’t bother him at all. It only makes him want to protect her.

And then, she speaks, “Your hands are so warm.”

.

He helps her put on the cloak he stashed away for her use. It is large enough to cover her wings, but it does not do much to hide her tail and horns. He only allows his touch to linger for a spell on her arm, the one Cornelia had cut to steal her blood. No more. He will _not_ let that witch hurt her again. Never.

If he tells her this, she has no reason to believe him when he’s allowed it to continue for as long as it did, so instead, Dimitri gives her the second item he had procured for her use: a dagger sheathed in a blue scabbard. “To keep you safe.”

He means exactly what he means with the gesture. He is arming her with a weapon, trusting that she won’t use it to slay him in his sleep, so he can only hope she may eventually come to trust him too, if only just a little.

Taking her hand again and taking care to take smaller steps than usual so she could keep up, he leads her through one of the secret passageways of the castle. It is still too early to count their laurels. They need to make it outside first, to the stables where his favored courser awaited them, saddled by a stableboy in exchange for a bag of coins and ready to ride.

They emerge just outside the chapel and from here, the trick is to stay in the shadows to avoid being seen. It is a good thing it is not winter, he thinks. Snow would mean footprints and more hazard traveling conditions.

“Dimitri?”

There are only a handful in the capital who call him by his name rather than his title, but he is sufficiently on edge that he wastes no time brandishing his lance at the speaker, its tip coming to a rest mere inches from Mercedes’s throat.

When he recognizes his friend, he lowers his weapon, but not his guard. “I’m sorry.” He is prepared to fight back against those who would try to stop them from leaving, but he would rather not fight her if he could help it. “I… It’s a long story, Mercedes, but I’m afraid I don’t have time to explain.”

She shakes her head. “It’s alright. I’m not expecting an explanation anyway.” She pushes the small wicker basket she is holding into his arms. “Please take this. I just had a feeling about tonight.”

A basket of her baked treats. He has packed provisions and the means to acquire more, but this… this is a gift of farewell. “Mercedes...”

“I won’t say anything” she promises, her gentle yet knowing gaze trailing towards the dragon leaning against him to better smell the pleasant aromas coming from the basket. “Good luck, Dimitri. May the goddess protect you both.”

.

“You are sure it is my son who did this?”

She is awfully calm for someone who has just lost two subordinates. “With all due respect, Your Majesty, the only one who could have killed the guards so efficiently and has the raw strength to break the bars of that cell is the young prince. What’s more, he has a motive. Even you can't deny it.”

Lambert finds himself reaching for a wall. _Dimitri... What have you done?_

“Your Majesty?” Cornelia prods. When he doesn’t immediately answer, she takes this as permission to speak. “If we send the knights to look for them right now, it is still possible to capture them before they make it too far.”

Yes, he should, shouldn’t he? Send his knights out to drag his wayward son back to Fhirdiad so he could give him a thorough scolding about the recklessness of his actions. His wayward son and…

“No,” he decides, causing Cornelia’s brow to rise. “Leave them be.”

“B-But Your Majesty, I must protest!” she splutters, “I understand that you are unwilling to send knights after your son like he is a common criminal, but if you don’t, we’ll lose a valuable resource and research specimen. There is a good chance that the weapon we can create from her will be as powerful as Areadbhar. Perhaps even more so.”

 _And we will still have many Crests-bearers and only one Relic._ It is a decision he has come to after his last conversation with his son. Killing her to create a weapon… Not only is it certainly wrong ethically, but it comes with its own complications. The lengths people go to for a Hero’s Relic… Miklan Anschutz Gautier had been proof of that. He is _not_ going to throw an apple of discord into an already volatile situation.

“You told me you still have samples of her blood. Make due with what you have. The Crest should be more than enough for our purposes.”

For a moment, Cornelia’s expression is a promise of mutiny. But she softens and bows her head, abashed. “I apologize. I’m afraid I let my enthusiasm get the better of me. Please, I beg your forgiveness.”

Sighing, Lambert turns away. “You are forgiven.” Despite his own doubts, it is he who approved of and funded her research. For the good of Faerghus, he would tell himself. All Dimitri had done was give voice to the misgivings that plagued him since he looked into the eyes of that young dragon the day she was captured. To sacrifice her like she is little more than a piece of cattle just because she is not one of his own… “If there is nothing else, Cornelia, please leave. I wish to be alone at the moment.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

He hears the heels of her shoes behind him and her sigh of disappointment.

What he doesn’t hear—until it is too late—is the dagger.

.

_“For his hand in the death of King Lambert Egitte Blaiddyd, former crown prince Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd is hereby stripped of all titles and declared an enemy of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus.”_

Has it really been only a day?

_I was never meant for this._

He did not want this. He thought he did. Once, long ago when he was young and foolish and jealous of his baby brother, but now he is the only member of House Blaiddyd left. If he did not take the throne, all of Faerghus would be consumed by chaos as his various cousins and distant relatives fought over who is the rightful king.

_Be careful what you wish for._

Rufus uncorks a bottle of wine and drinks and drinks and _drinks_ and still, he cannot drown out the open triumph he saw on Cornelia’s face.

His nephew did not kill his brother. Why didn’t he realize this sooner?

.

_Find them and bring them back. Dead or alive._

“That _idiot…_ ”

“He could not have done such a thing. It’s impossible.”

“Out of all the stupid boar-headed things he could have done...”

“I knew it. _I knew it._ Dimitri really was thinking about wooing a girl all this time. Oh, Your Highness… so much trouble could have been prevented if you only—Ow! Ingrid, what the hell?”

Scowling at the red-headed knight rubbing the spot where she smacked him, Ingrid resists the urge to retort that _she_ should be the one asking him that question, profanity and all. Of course she shouldn’t have expected anything else from him, but _honestly,_ Making jokes like that? Now? Of all times? “It doesn’t matter what his reasons were, Sylvain! Regicide is no petty offence and with the Church involved, it’s only a matter of time before he’s caught! His Highness is strong, but even he can’t keep running forever.”

“Well, he better _try_ ,” Felix snaps, “If the boar lets himself get caught, I’m going to kill him.”

Ingrid pinches the bridge of her nose. They are both as worried as she is, she knew that, but it is difficult to keep her vexation to herself.

They had all seen it. Something had been _off_ about Dimitri in the past year. Something had changed about their friend, but they had all assumed it was due to his injury and so they asked no questions.

Now it is too late _to_ ask questions. They just learned the truth had been more complicated than they ever could have imagined.

Sylvain is the first to say it out loud. “Why didn’t he tell us?”

She and Felix look at each other. Once and briefly, but they understand each other and Sylvain perfectly. After all these years of friendship, didn’t Dimitri trust them to help if he is ever in trouble?

“Knowing His Highness,” Ingrid says slowly, reluctantly. “He probably didn’t want to burden us with his problems.”

It doesn’t make any of them feel better.

“Idiot,” Felix decrees.

However, there is a reason why they had gathered as soon as they heard the news. Sylvain glances from Felix to Ingrid, meeting both their eyes, one at a time, “Are you two thinking what I’m thinking?”

She knows that expression. She meets his gaze without flinching. “I think I _am_ thinking what you are thinking, Sylvain.”

They both look to the heir of House Fraldarius, but Felix…

Felix just smirks.

.

Their first few days of travel is nonstop, only resting when it is necessary and they are on the move whenever they can afford it. They avoid the main roads and instead take their chances in the wilderness.

It surprises him, how well she takes to being outdoors again, but he is not complaining. She spends a large amount of time staring up and around at everything as though she still cannot believe she is free. When they stop to make camp, she would wander off a little here and there and then come back when she smells food cooking.

Dimitri is hopeless in the kitchen without a recipe to follow, but when it comes to a campfire, his skills are enough to get them by. Thank the goddess that the Officer’s Academy finds it prudent to teach their students—many of whom are nobles who never wanted for anything in their lives—how to live off the land.

Of course, the journey is not without trouble. A lone pair of travelers, even when one is as well armed and well armored as he, with a horse are tempting targets where a common thief or bandit is concerned.

He regrets it only a little when he cuts them down. The last thing he needs is the whispers of a young woman with dragon scales to spread across the continent so all those who see her must not live to speak of it.

So far, only bandits and thieves. He knows better than to expect this luck to last.

.

The first two uniformed soldiers with whom they cross paths are young and inexperienced and likely never seen his face before. Knocking them out without leaving permanent damage is laughably easy and he feels more guilt for leaving them at the side of the road than he does for hurting them.

The next three that catch up are not of Faerghus, but members of the Knights of Seiros. They demand that he surrender and submit himself to the judgment of the goddess, but then they catch sight of his companion, of the features that mark her as _otherworldly_ and they stop mid sentence, only able to stare in slack-jawed amazement.

It gives him the chance for a preemptive strike, one he takes no joy in making. If the Church is involved, it greatly limits the options available to him now. For the past few days, Dimitri has been thinking about reaching out to people he knows in the Alliance for help. Not necessarily Claude—his position as sovereign duke is likely precarious enough without involving himself in the affairs of a royal turncoat—but perhaps Raphael and his family would be able to shelter them for a few days. Or Marianne, if he is in need of resources only a noble would have access to…

No. Not anymore. With the Church on his trail, he can’t ask that of his friends. Not when he knows full well how the Church deals with associates of heretics and traitors.

.

“I can’t believe I admired you.”

The Faerghus knight is the same one against whom Dimitri had won his first sparring match ever since his injury. Fighting him, fighting a familiar face… He’s been bracing himself for this moment since the day he left.

“I’ve already spilled blood for this cause,” Dimitri warns the hesitant man. Despite everything he’s done, the choices he’s made, he holds no ill will towards anyone save Cornelia. He truly does not wish to hurt anybody if it could be avoided. “Either walk away or come at me with all you’ve got. It’s your decision.”

Something dark flashes in the knight’s eyes. “You don’t regret a thing do you?”

His intuition is screaming. “Why should I?” he asks, trying not to come off as defensive. _Something… Something isn’t right._ “I am only doing what I believe is right.”

“And _murdering your own father_ is what you believe is right?!”

The statement is so unexpected, so out of nowhere, it catches him entirely off-guard. “Pardon?”

“Don’t pretend you don’t know, _Kingslayer_. His Majesty was found dead right after you went missing. Did you really think you could get away with your crimes?”

“I…”

His silence is interpreted as an admission of guilt. “On my honor as a knight, I cannot allow a monster such as you to continue to live.”

.

_Kingslayer._

_Kingslayer._

_Kingslayer._

The words cling to him like a shadow. Haunting him, cursing him for the choices he has made. His father is dead. And the last thing he said to him was… was…

_Forgive me, Father. Forgive…_

He senses movement behind him, but he doesn’t move a muscle. The dagger… Has she decided to use it after all?

Instead, he feels a pair of thin arms twine around him and her petite frame pressing against his back.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I’m so sorry.”

.

Shock and grief has left him paralyzed as he stands over his defeated opponent. The dead man had activated a Crest during their duel, a Crest he did not originally have. _My father was right about one thing,_ Dimitri thinks sardonically. _The Crest she grants is indeed powerful._

He may have stayed there indefinitely, were it not for her urging him to _move_. He follows mostly because he doesn’t know what else to do, but farther and farther they go, more and more of his wits return.

They take shelter in a cave she finds near a river. There, she cleans and bandages the wounds he sustained while protecting her, one by one. Once she is satisfied with her work and confident that he will stay put, she leaves, taking only her dagger and Mercedes’s basket with her.

Only now does he realize he is _exhausted_. Not just from the constant fighting, but from doing everything else as well. It had been a responsibility he had taken upon himself, but the emotional toll of it has finally caught up with him.

He drifts off into hazy dreams of ashes and snow, but jerks awake when she returns. Seeing that he is awake, she shows him the contents of the basket: a pair of large fish, already cleaned and gutted and ready to cook.

“How did you catch them?” Dimitri asks, amazed that she had managed to do it without a hook or line.

“Luck, mostly,” she explains, blinking without a change of expression on her face. Then her brow furrows as she adds, “I have a… friend who loves eating fish. We used to catch them together.”

 _A friend? ‘Used to’?_ “It looks delicious. Thank you.”

The compliment makes her smile. He instantly feels a little more reenergized.

When she finishes cooking one, she all but shoves it into his mouth when he tries to insist that she should eat first. He relents, to her satisfaction, and she goes back outside to cook the second.

They eat in silence as they always do, but today, her attention isn’t absorbed by her food as usual. She is watching him instead.

“Did you do it?” She asks when she swallows her last bite. “Did you really kill your father?”

 _Of course…_ She had heard everything. “Does it bother you? Being in the presence of a kinslayer?”

She runs her fingers through her hair. “That depends on whether or not you are one.”

“My father knew what Cornelia had been doing to you.” _Cornelia_. She is the one who killed his father and then framed Dimitri for the act, he would bet his left eye on it. By freeing and running away with this young woman here, he had played right into her hands. “I disagreed with him in regards to that, but I didn’t kill him.”

“Oh,” is all she could say before she follows up with the most unexpected of statements. “I met him once, your father. He looked just like you.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“You both smell like the humans that destroyed my home too.”

“You mean Blaiddyd of the 10 Elites? His Crest runs in both our veins, if that is what you’re referring to.”

“I wouldn’t know. They were all the same to me back then,” her pale eyes darken. “The dragons who lived in my village were mostly those who were either too young or too old to fight or refugees who didn’t want to. They didn’t care. To them, we were just beasts to be slain.”

Children. The elderly. Those who did would rather flee than fight. His fist clenches in anger. “I’m sorry,” he replies, solemn. “I realize words alone are not enough to repent for what your kind has suffered, but I fear they are all I have.”

“Why are you apologizing?” she grumbles as though she cannot decide whether or not she is annoyed by him. “ _You_ didn’t do those things. You… You’re different. I wish more humans were like you.”

It’s not a steep hill to climb. Simply treating her halfway decently would certainly make him the better man in comparison. “That is high praise, saying humans should be more like me, but I’m afraid I am not the paragon you think I am.” _Humanity should have a better model to follow…_

She tilts her head as she scrutinizes him. What is she thinking, he wonders, feeling his cheeks grow hot. “Do you regret this?” she asks quietly. “You were a prince and you gave all that up for…“ She gestures vaguely at their surroundings. “This.”

“No.” Even though it is the truth, it feels dull on his lips. “I’ve already chosen my path.” All he could do now is to keep marching onward. “And I _will_ keep you safe. I swear it.”

She believes him. He could tell by the way she takes his hand.

“Byleth,” she says.

_Byleth?_

“You asked who I was before. My name is Byleth.”

.

In a reversal of their nights in her tower, she is the one who fills their next days together with stories.

She tells him the other side of history, the War of Heroes from the perspective of the dragons and the tragedy that befell her people when one dragon took pity on a dying human and shared with him her power and lifeforce.

She also tells him the story of her parents, of the love between a human mercenary and a dragon maiden. It is a mere glimpse into the distant memory of what life was like in Fódlan when dragonkind and humanity were able to live side by side.

It is not a memory that belongs to him and yet, he finds himself longing for them nonetheless.

.

Eventually, he decides to tread into dangerous waters because it is something he must ask: “Why did you return? After what you and your people have gone through here, I can’t imagine why…”

For a moment, she looks angry at his prying, but her anger doesn’t last. “My mother,” she replies and she just sounds so _sad._ “The day before our village was set to evacuate through the Dragon’s Gate, we were attacked. My mother stayed to fight them, to buy us all time to escape. She promised to follow once they were all safe and she never broke her promises. When she never came through, I decided to return to search for her.”

“But by then,” he says softly, putting two and two together easily on his own. He feels his heart breaking for her. Though his own mother died when he was too young to remember her, the still-festering loss of his father is more than enough to make up the difference. “It was too late.”

Byleth nods. “My father was probably long dead, even before the attack. Killed for consorting with the enemy is my guess. But my mother, I believed she was alive all this time. Hoped, rather. By the time I realized she was gone, your people had already begun their hunt for me and that woman, the one you call Cornelia… She stole my power and sealed it away so I couldn’t even go back.”

 _I can’t go back either._ Not unless he could prove that he is not the person who killed his father. Not unless his Kingdom could forgive him for abandoning them for the sake of one dragon. Forward is the only way left for him to go. “When you went through the Dragon’s Gate from your world, where did you come out?”

She doesn’t know the name of the location, but she describes it as clear as a ringing bell.

_Zanado. The Red Canyon._

.

Six years ago, a gang of thieves had decided to make Zanado their base of operations. The archbishop had assigned the Blue Lion house with the task of subduing them as both practical combat experience and a moral duty.

Who would have guessed he and his classmates had all so obliviously walked so close along the edge of the world?

Beside him, Byleth pushes off the hood of her cloak. In the light of the moon, she seems to be glowing in her own right as she casts her pale gaze out at the canyon as though she could see the Gate that will lead her home even from here.

“There’s not a cloud in sight,” he observes, holding the reins of his horse as they approached the canyon’s border on foot. “And it’s a full moon.” The second one this month, in fact. How fortuitous. “We should be able to keep going if we tread lightly, but do you need to rest first?”

She shakes her head. “Do you?”

“No,” His time with her is coming to an end, one way or another. Yet, he cannot help but want to keep clinging to these precious last moments. “I can keep going for as long as it takes.”

It might not be for very long. He hears the chink of platemail and the telltale sound of weapons being drawn. _An ambush._

Dimitri instinctively pushes Byleth behind him. A fruitless maneuver. They’re surrounded.

Six years ago, he took his first life here. He supposes it is only fitting his own will be taken here in turn.

.

High above, Ingrid unwraps the lance Felix was able to steal back from one of Cornelia’s underlings, releasing the azure banner and watching it flutter away into the night. Who would have thought that one day she would so willingly and unhesitatingly let go of her loyalty to her homeland to stay true to her loyalty to her friend when all her life she thought they would be one and the same.

Holding the weapon across her lap in one hand and holding right to the reins of her pegasus with the other, she waits. Waiting and watching for the signal…

She spots them, blond man in black and blue and a woman with green hair and white-scaled wings, seconds before they find themselves surrounded by Kingdom troops. She resists her impulse to swoop down and save them with Lúin in hand, but she reminds herself timing is everything.

Biting her lip, all she could do right now is pray and worry and hope that things have not gone terribly wrong. _Come on, Sylvain… Where are you?_

She is _this close_ to abandoning the plan before a section of the ground beneath explodes in magical fire, breaking the circle of Kingdom soldiers as they scramble to escape the flames—and creating an opening into the canyon, an opening Dimitri quickly takes advantage of by lifting his companion up onto his horse and sending them on their way before grabbing his lance and taking a fighting stance.

_There._

Ingrid dives.

“Your Highness!” She raises Areadbhar like a standard and throws it down to its rightful wielder, “ _Catch!_ ”

.

He had been prepared to lay down his life for her, his life and his alone. He never once imagined that his childhood friends would have joined the hunt for him, but with the intention of turning their cloaks to fight with him when he is found.

Three more lives on his conscience, but he sees their resolve in their eyes when they unblinkingly meet his own. To follow the path of justice, as long as life endures. That is the duty of a knight of Faerghus.

To allow himself to anguish over their choices would be an insult to their honor, so he throws down his lance and for the first time in his life, picks up the Hero’s Relic Areadbhar.

The Crest Stone pulses once and his blood sings back its recognition. Could the spirit of the Grim Dragon somehow sense his dearest wish? _Please… Lend me your strength._

“Thank you, my friends,” Dimitri says. “I am truly blessed to know such loyalty.”

.

To those who didn’t know any better, the Dragon’s Gate is just another ruined archway not worth looking at twice, but wouldn’t have made any difference even if they did, as only a dragon could walk through and go to that other realm.

The Gate is fueled by the same essence her people used to take their true forms. Byleth feels its power. It calls to her, remembers her, even though her own has been stolen away. A single step. That is all that is needed for her to return to her family. Her parents are both gone, but beyond that gate are Rhea and Seteth and Flayn and everyone else. One step and she could wash her hands clean of this place, this world where she no longer belonged, for good. _A single step._

She doesn’t take it.

She turns back. Why is she hesitating? Isn’t this what he has been fighting for since the day he turned his back on his people to set her free? If she is killed or captured again, everything he’s done, everything he’s sacrificed would all be in vain.

Her heart is torn in two. She yearns for her home, her family, but she knows she can’t abandon him either.

She just _can’t._

.

_I am at my limit…_

Felix is the one who strikes down the last of this platoon, but rather than relish in his victory as he once would have done, he plants his sword into the ground, leaning on it for support as he takes a second to catch his breath.

A second is all they have. Ingrid’s warning cry is what allows him to dodge an arrow flying towards him from his blind side and in the corner of his vision, he sees the movement of many a dark-robed figure, all wearing that black bird-beaked mask he hates so much.

And among them, Cornelia.

“Their reinforcements have finally arrived,” Sylvain breathes from where he is standing with his exhausted horse. “Your Highness… Dimitri… Looks like this is the end of the road.” He blinks slowly, not a trace of levity in his expression as he says with all sincerity, “I hope she got away.”

He hopes so too. _Byleth._ He thinks of her smile, the smile he’s been fighting for all this time. He wishes he could tell her how grateful he is, that she is willing to let down her walls and trust him despite her past experiences with humanity, but so long as she gets away, as long as she is safe…

_If she is safe. I can die content._

.

Drained of its power, its magic, the Dragon’s Gate crumbles, never to be used again.

For the first time in nine years, she spreads her wings and is able to take flight.

.

Dimitri has his eye set on Cornelia, no doubt intending to make her pay for the crimes she has committed or die trying.

_Ugh, typical._

Charging in head first like the goddess-damned boar he is all the way to the very end…

Felix wipes the blood and sweat off his cheek and he wonders what his old man would think of his actions. Would he say he died like Glenn— _died like a true knight_ —or would his death be decreed the comeuppance of a traitor?

It annoys him that he is thinking about crap like this now—it’s not like he _cares_ about the opinion of the famed Shield of Faerghus or anything. In fact, it’s hard to say which annoys him more, that he is spending what likely are his final moments thinking about his father or that he’s chosen to die surrounded by the biggest idiots in Fódlan.

Well, whatever. There are worse things than fighting by their sides, he supposed. At least this way, he can go out with a weapon in hand.

He lifts his sword and above him, he hears wings. Wings that are too far large to belong to Ingrid’s pegasus.

.

The white dragon he saw at Lake Teutates as a child lands beside him, almost delicately, and lowers her head. For a moment their eyes meet and time seems to slow.

Even without words, he understands. She came back for _him_. She came back to protect him as he had protected her.

His heart warmed in a way it never has been before, Dimitri reaches up with an outstretched hand and she gently bumps against it with her muzzle.

“Artillery,” Cornelia shrieks. She seems so insignificant and so far away. “ _Fire!_ ”

Byleth responds deceptively quickly despite her size, using her wings to shield him and his friends from the opening volley. When she lifts them again, Dimitri zeroes in on Cornelia, who is looking quite furious and—dare he say it?— _panicked_ about this reversal of fortune. Whichever methods she had used to subdue and capture Byleth the first time clearly are not available to her now.

Sylvain whistles. “Lady Luck is on our side today.”

 _Yes. She certainly is._ Upon seeing how she so easily shrugged off their magic and their arrows, Byleth alone is enough to send the majority of the Kingdom soldiers running. Without a Hero’s Relic on their side, it is pointless to try fighting her. Byleth straightens her neck and is in the middle of opening her maw to unleash her breath weapon before he stops her with a hand on her front leg.

She lets them go until only Cornelia and her most loyal followers remain.

Dimitri is absolutely fine with that.

After all, he still has a father to avenge.

.

Her presence changes everything.

But victory never comes without a cost.

.

He had only meant to reclaim Byleth’s dragonstone for her.

He should have known Cornelia wouldn’t go down so easily.

.

The white dragon’s roar is a scream of fury and grief. Sylvain has never heard anything more heart wrenching.

Even with a dagger slipped between the plates of his armor and receiving the full force of a spell blasted against him at point-blank range, His Highness is _still_ the most stubborn guy Sylvain knows. Despite his own wound, he is still able to summon forth the strength to make sure his enemy is dead for good. Cornelia’s body falls with a dying smirk on her lips, but honestly, none of them gives a damn about Cornelia. Not anymore.

Their savior is engulfed by white light and when it fades, she is a young woman with draconic features again. The sudden change in her center of gravity causes her to be a little unsteady on her feet, but she regains it quickly as she drops to her knees at the prince’s side, reaching out to take his hand. “Dimitri…” she whispers. “Oh, _Dimitri._ ”

Sylvain sees her tears, his smile and he knows he is witnessing something tender, intimate. The way they look at each other, even as Dimitri lies at death’s door… Would anyone ever look at him that way?

“My name,” Dimitri says, grinning like a fool “You remembered. I… Thank you for coming back, Byleth. I am so glad that I…”

“I should be the one thanking you. You sacrificed so much for me and I never… Thank you for everything, Dimitri.” She rushes to get the words out as he closes his eyes. “ _Thank you so much._ ”

She touches the hilt of the dagger still lodged deep into his side and then looks up at Sylvain. “You know magic,” she pleads desperately, “Can you…? Is there anything you could…?”

But Sylvain is already shaking his head before she even finishes asking, mentally kicking himself for steadying only black magic at the Academy and never once looking into white. Mercedes would not always be there for them and yet…

His only comfort, however small it is, is that his answer does not cause her to immediately lose hope. _A stubborn one, just like His Highness._ She looks around and she sees Cornelia’s body. “That stone. Please, give it to me.”

Ingrid does this, yanking the pale green stone from where it hangs on the dead mage’s belt and gives it to her without a word. She holds it against her chest and Sylvain knows—or rather, his _Crest_ knows—it is a treasure more precious than any jewel.

“I can save him,” she says, “But if I do, he won’t be human anymore.”

Her words make him shudder. Sylvain could only imagine what would become of his friend if they are to agree.

“Do it,” Felix tells her. “Save him. He’s come too far to just die here.” He has always struggled with sentimentality, so Sylvain is proud when he manages to swallow his pride and say, “Whatever becomes of him afterwards, I’m sure everything will be alright in the end. Dimitri is strong enough to live with it. I believe that. Truely”

She nods once and before them, she begins to sing.

:.

:.

:.

Curled up in the nursery with a child cuddled up on each side, the queen of Faerghus closes the book from which she has been reading. This is her favorite time of the day, when she is finished with her duties and she could spend a few uninterrupted hours with her children and just be a mother.

The young princess speaks first. “What a wonderful story,” she sighs with the starry eyes of a girl who still believed in fairytales. “I hope I will find someone who loves me that much one day.”

“Maybe one day you will,” her mother replies, smiling despite her dismay. Her little girl is already old enough to dream of love and romance? When did that happen? It is too soon!

Her son, on the other hand, has a different opinion. “You’re such a _girl,_ ” he says scornfully as though he wasn’t just as nervous and misty-eyed as his sister when all seemed hopeless for the hero and heroine. “Why do you have to turn every story we hear into a kissing story?” He turns away from his pouting sister and tells his mother, “I liked the big battle at the end best. It was the most exciting part.”

Ah… Her sweet boy is growing up too. He is at that age where he sees only the glories of battle and not the tragedies. But now is not the time for her to dwell on that, not when a battle is about to ensue right this very moment.

“You are both allowed to like the story for different reasons,” the queen injects quickly, “They are both good reasons because there is a little something for everyone to enjoy in this tale.”

Her daughter sticks her tongue out at her brother. “You hear that? I’m allowed to like what I like.” She snuggles closer to her mother. “Can you read it again for us, Mama?”

“Well…” She hears the bedroom door open and close behind her before replying, “It’s too late for me to read this story to you again. How about your father read it to you tomorrow?”

They both look at each other once before bobbing their heads in unison in excitement.

“Hello,” her husband murmurs, dropping a kiss on her temple from behind. He leans on the back of the divan and asks his children, “What is this story I will be reading to you tomorrow night?”

“The one with the prince and the dragon!” their daughter exclaims happily.

“Ah, of course,” the king smiles. “If I recall, that is one of your mother’s favorites. Isn’t it?”

She glances sideways at him. “It’s hard to say,” she teases. “You’re more familiar with these stories than I am.”

He doesn’t deny this, simply chuckling before turning to the children. “It’s time for bed,” he tells them, “You both have a long day ahead of you tomorrow.”

Almost right on cue, the prince opens his mouth in a loud yawn. “I hope you skip the boring parts tomorrow, Father,” he complains. “There’s so many places where nothing happens.”

Wrinkling her nose, his sister tugs at her mother’s sleeve. “Big brother has no imagination,” she whispers as though it is the gravest of all insults, “What’s even the point of cheering for the heroes if we don't care about what happens to them?”

The queen manages to refrain from snorting out loud before picking her up her little girl—causing a shriek and a giggled, “Mama!” in the process—as her husband does the same with their son. There is some slight protesting, but they are both indulging themselves in this regard. It won’t be long before their children become too big to be picked up and babied by their parents, royalty or not.

They tuck their children in and say their goodnights. The queen leaves the book on a table so it will be ready for them again tomorrow night. Together, the couple leave the nursery, knowing it will be a couple hours of whispering beneath the covers before their children fall asleep.

“They grow up so fast,” the king murmurs, gently wrapping an arm around his wife. “Its still feels like yesterday when they were small enough to be held in my two hands.”

She sighs and lets herself lean against his side. “They still have a few more years of childhood left,” she says. “Let them enjoy that. The world they’re growing up in is very different from the one we knew.”

There is a solemn silence at her words. For all the happiness their children and family has brought, a terrible price has been paid to make it all possible.

“Yes, you are right as ever, my beloved. Right as ever.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is the second time I’ve written Dimitri nearly dying in Byleth’s arms. I hope it’s not going to become A ThingTM... 
> 
> You may have already figured it out, but the Elibe games were a huge inspiration for this fic (plus one line from a support in Awakening), so I took the liberty of borrowing some terminology from them. Byleth in this AU was pretty straightforwardly inspired by both Idunn and Ninian. 
> 
> And for the epilogue portion of this story… Make of it as you will :)
> 
> Last, but not least: A big shout out to Liv/nami_no_hoshi. She not only encouraged me to write this story, but was also a huge help during the brainstorming and editing process 💙


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